


Alive

by piper (deanwinchesters)



Category: Fight Club (1999), Fight Club - All Media Types, Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1676270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanwinchesters/pseuds/piper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kind of a deleted scene from Fight Club, done in a Palahniuk-type style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alive

It felt like my body had been flipped inside out, turning inside itself to collapse like a dying star.  
You don’t want this anymore.  
You just wish you were numb.  
I asked him to hit me and the palm of his hand did just that right across the side of my face. It stung in a good way. Without missing a beat, his left fist, far more clumsy than the right, hit me square in the eye. Then another slap to the face.  
I am on fire.  
As numb as the clouds above our heads and as full of feeling as the stars who died for us, I try to stand and collapse at his feet. Broken and unblinking. I am as dull as the rocks that litter the beach and as blank and unfeeling as the sand.  
I ask him, please, just kill me because all I do is lay in my crummy apartment watching infomercials. He is alive. I am not. I just want things.  
He tells me, no, I need to realize. I need to come alive.  
I say please hit me.  
A swift kick to the stomach leaves me choking on my own vomit. Please. A jab to my arm leaves me gasping. A punch that knocks my tooth out puts me in the fetal position.  
Please.  
Don’t stop now.  
Please, Tyler, I need you to keep going.  
I need to start over.  
“You don’t need,” he says, stomping on my hand repeatedly until I can feel the bones begin to fracture in tiny segments, “you want.”  
I gulp another mouthful of blood.  
“You are the trash of the world,” Tyler says. “I can’t kill you.”  
But, Tyler, you can.  
“I won’t,” he grins. “That wouldn’t be fair, now would it?” He rips a tuft of my hair out.  
I yell Tyler, if you’re going to do this to me, please at least end it when you’re finished.  
“Is it what your crappy little existence wants?” His voice is picked up by the wind.  
Yes.  
Please.  
I am finished.  
I am as dull as the sand on the beaches where they dump all of the human waste and as broken as the stars.  
“You are not who you pretend you are,” Tyler says. “You are not who you think you are, and you are not anything but who you want to be and the person your soul really is.”  
Tyler kicks me in the gut.  
“Self-destruction will get you there.”  
Yeah. Okay. I don’t want to die in a dumpster where the whole world will wonder who I am and what went wrong.  
The stars look nice tonight, I say.  
“What a nice night to die,” says Tyler.  
Please.  
Tyler, I am begging you.  
End me.  
“Can’t.” Tyler kicks me in the forehead. It’s less painful, but he claps his hand to his own head.  
Self-destruction is a bitch.  
“You’re a slave to consumerism. All you do is want and need things and shit them back out. You don’t taste what you put in your mouth.” Tyler grunts as he gives only a gentle push to my arm. I roll over.  
I am slowly coming alive.  
“Only by destroying yourself will you be whole again.” Tyler raises his voice. “Are you listening to me? You don’t matter. Not yet. Make yourself matter!”  
I can barely choke out the word “how” as Tyler collapses to the pavement in a heap. He props himself up on his good shoulder with a noticeable wince.  
Who’s on fire now, I say.  
You are as radiant as the sun reflecting on the lake.  
You are in pain.  
Only with practice can we get better.  
Only in death does our legacy become clear.  
Only by destroying the world can we be saved.  
I have come alive, Tyler, please.  
“Says the man in the expensive suit,” Tyler says with a bemused expression.  
Can I go?  
No.  
We are going to turn the world upside down.  
We are going to come alive.  
May I never be anything but wholly alive.  
He brings his hand down hard on my back. I expect this was Tyler’s version of a comforting gesture. I don’t feel it.  
He laughs.  
No, really, I’m finished, Tyler, and please could I just be done now. Please.  
“I,” Tyler pauses, “do not make your choices.” He coughs blood into his hand.  
Of course. Mr. Durden, leader of all good and evil, leader of the decision and goals of the people, lead head committee member in the task to blow up the world, cannot make my choices. Cannot do me a favor. Of course.  
I had no idea if I’d thank Tyler later. Maybe I would. No. Of course I wouldn’t. I’d rather watch the world explode from space.  
Maybe God wouldn’t like me enough to give me a front row seat for the mass destruction of the earth, but sometimes other factors come into play. Just living your life is good enough.  
I say, Tyler, you don’t understand.  
Tyler tells me I’m the one who doesn’t understand.  
I think he’s wrong.  
Tyler doesn’t think so.  
Mr. Durden, leader of operation destroy-the-world, doesn’t think he has the capabilities of being wrong.  
I say, Tyler, you know nothing.  
I can hear the click of the gun in his hand. The metal feels cold on my temple. Before I can do a thing he's shot me.  
Or maybe I've shot myself.


End file.
